The hour of dawn deepened.
Yeomyeong returned to camp and told the Saint and Corvus that Orsetabul needed to be sent back to the mountains.
“Is that so? A sha,” Corvus said, her eyes widening slightly in surprise—but after Yeomyeong explained the reasons, she nodded in understanding.
The Saint, on the other hand...
She couldn’t even et Yeomyeong’s gaze. Instead, she fidgeted with her fingers, awkward and guilty.
She had clearly done sothing.
When Yeomyeong narrowed his eyes at her, she actually started whistling.
...Anyway.
As /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ if on cue, Seti began to stir awake, and the group prepared to say goodbye to the dragon.
It wasn’t so grand farewell or emotional send-off.
They just gathered, chatting softly and offering their thanks. And that was enough.
They believed, after all, that they would et again.
“I’ll co visit the mountains next ti,” Yeomyeong said.
After the final goodbye, he placed his palm against the dragon’s massive claw.
Orsetabul gave a faint smile, then spread his wings wide and said,
[Yeomyeong, though it was a brief encounter, I’m glad I could be of help. I look forward to eting you in my holand. And... Saint?]
The Saint, who had been staring silently at Yeomyeong, flinched at the dragon’s call and lifted her head.
She saw the dragon, backlit by the approaching dawn, obscured eyes covered by his blindfold.
[When next we et, I hope you’ll have grown as dignified as the previous Saint.]
“W-what?!”
The Saint tried to fire back, but the dragon kicked off the ground and soared into the sky.
The gust of wind from his enormous wings rustled the tents and trees surrounding the campsite.
Only then did the rchants and workers begin to erge, rubbing their eyes as they stared at the direction the dragon had vanished toward.
A red dragon shrinking into the red-tinged morning sky.
So felt regret. Others awe. But all of them fell silent, as if it had been prearranged.
And with the dragon gone into the dawn, as morning settled in—
Yeomyeong spoke.
To the Saint, and no one else.
“...What the hell did you do to the dragon?”
The Saint had no answer.
****
After Orsetabul’s departure, Yeomyeong offered Tindal a proposal: to travel together as far as the Gemini Autonomous Zone.
They shared a destination anyway, and traveling in numbers would be safer.
Naturally, Tindal didn’t refuse.
Was it because of the unresolved issue with the remaining traitorous rcenaries? Or the mafia tied to the Awakening Elixir?
Sure, those were part of it—but the real reason?
The Saint was part of Yeomyeong’s group.
The Saint who had flown in on a dragon.
As a devout follower of the Five Gods, Tindal practically leapt at the chance to serve her, bowing low and offering Yeomyeong’s party the finest carriage he owned.
“There’s really no need to give us sothing this nice...”
Yeomyeong tried to turn it down gently, but Tindal was firm. He insisted this was the least he could do for the Saint and her companions, who had saved them.
And so, the rchant caravan began preparing for departure.
It was delayed slightly due to the dozens of bound rcenary prisoners, but the rchants and workers quickly tore down the tents and set off for the Gemini Autonomous Zone.
Their imdiate destination: the nearest train station.
Wheels rattled through the forest, and the morning sunlight peeked through the leaves as the caravan moved forward.
The forest was just starting to settle back into stillness when—
“Are you just going to let them go?”
A voice broke the quiet, high atop a tall tree overlooking the entire forest.
“Comrade Derond, are you really not going to do anything?”
Urgent. The speaker was watching the caravan disappear below.
Derond, lounging against the tree trunk with his arms crossed, answered calmly.
“You disagree with my judgnt?”
“...At the very least, you should’ve recovered the World Tree crystal from that Earthling’s hands.”
Spoken like a true elf who’d suffered under the Earthlings.
Derond leaned back, resting his head against the bark.
“I can’t take back what Mother World Tree has chosen to give.”
“But didn’t you offer a lesson in exchange for a favor? Shouldn’t this be when you—”
“No. Not yet. The ti isn’t right. I’ll use that favor when the mont’s truly fitting.”
“....”
A short silence.
Only once the caravan had vanished beyond sight did the voice in the tree speak again.
“...What did you see in them?”
As if he’d been waiting for that question, Derond smiled faintly beneath his scarred face.
“Potential.”
“...Potential? What kind of potential?”
“The kind that could flip the entire ga the damn Yankees set up.”
****
The carriage Tindal had provided was extrely comfortable.
Spacious enough to seat five with room to spare, and enchanted sohow—it barely shook even on bumpy roads.
Normally, it would’ve been the perfect mont for soone to rave about the ride quality, but inside the carriage, it was as quiet as a library.
Yeomyeong was deep in thought, turning over the kōan Derond had given him—
Summing up his life in a single sentence.
Corvus sat in silent ditation.
The Saint kept stealing glances at Yeomyeong while fiddling with sothing in her pocket.
Neti was curiously inspecting the luxurious interior.
And Seti...
Seti, still suffering from a hangover, didn’t want Yeomyeong to see her miserable state—so she’d chosen to sit up front with the driver.
At least the view was decent.
Sparse trees. Rolling hills. A little stream trickling between the slopes.
If only it weren’t for the motorcycle engines growling from beyond the horizon, spewing exhaust across that perfect backdrop.
Seti imdiately focused mana into her eyes and counted.
Over thirty bikes. Including sidecar passengers, they probably had close to forty people.
Hopefully they were just passing bikers—but the mismatched armor, crude helts, and makeshift weapons they carried said otherwise.
Seti banged on the carriage window and shouted.
“Strange group approaching from the east!!”
Only then did the rchants spot the motorcycles, and the caravan ca to a halt.
The original rcenary escorts were long since prisoners, so Seti was the only one on alert—
That is, until Yeomyeong stepped out of the carriage.
“Enemies?”
Seti pointed at the motorcycles.
“Not sure yet... but they’re not exactly giving off friendly vibes, are they?”
As if on cue, the motorbikes stopped at what they seed to consider an appropriate distance.
They lined up their front wheels perfectly. Clearly not amateurs.
Then, one bike broke away from the group and rode toward the caravan.
Its rider wore blindingly polished armor.
As he drew close enough for his facial features to be visible, the man on the motorcycle shouted:
“I am Captain Kakhdak of the Gemini Autonomous Defense Force! You have illegally trespassed on this territory! In accordance with the sacred Constitution of the United States, you are hereby placed under arrest!”
Upon hearing that, Tindal’s face twisted.
He glanced toward Yeomyeong—no, toward the Saint’s carriage—before answering.
“Captain! I am a rchant with official permission from the Autonomous Zone! I carry a permit personally issued by the Mayor himself!”
Now it was Kakhdak’s turn to grimace.
He paused for a mont, clearly thinking through sothing, then pulled his motorcycle even closer to the caravan.
“A permit? Hand it over. I’ll inspect it myself.”
Tindal imdiately summoned a servant to fetch the docunt.
This sort of situation seed to be a first for many of the rchants and workers—they looked visibly tense.
“Hey, who are those people? Slaves?”
As the servant went to retrieve the permit, the officer glanced over at the bound rcenaries and asked,
“These were your original escorts?”
“They were. They betrayed us halfway through the journey, so we had no choice but to restrain them,” Tindal explained.
The rider licked his lips and dismounted, casually wandering through the caravan with his eyes scanning everything.
“Uh, Captain? This kind of inspection’s a first for . Has sothing happened in the Autonomous Zone?”
Kakhdak didn’t even look at him as he answered.
“Happened? Sothing’s always happening. Trash like illegal immigrants and refugees. Scum trying to crawl into Arica—”
In the middle of that rant, his eyes landed on Seti.
“Oh...?”
A slow, shaless up-and-down. A leer so blatant it made Yeomyeong’s mana surge behind cold, narrowed eyes.
Just then, the servant returned with the permit.
“Here. A permit stamped with the official seal of the Autonomous Zone.”
Even as he took the docunt, Kakhdak kept shooting side-eyes at Seti.
And after a mont, midway through reading it, he looked back and forth between Tindal and Seti.
“And who’s she supposed to be? She’s driving the carriage, so she’s not a noble. What, your lover or sothing?”
“She’s not soone you can refer to so casually, Captain,” Tindal replied firmly.
Kakhdak smirked.
“A noblewoman? Even better.”
“...Better? What’s better about that?”
This ti, the question ca from Yeomyeong.
Seeing he was unard, Kakhdak curled his lips into a sneer.
“Noble bitches—especially the pretty ones—go for a high price.”
The mont those words left his mouth, he raised his hand high.
And right on cue, a trumpet blared from between the lined-up motorcycles—
a signal that left no room for interpretation.
Before the sound had even finished echoing, the motorcycles charged the caravan.
Kakhdak glanced around, clearly expecting the rchants to scatter in terror—but none of them moved.
In fact, a few workers were staring at him with an expression that could only be described as pity.
Sensing sothing was off, he reached for the sword at his waist—
But Yeomyeong spoke first.
“Is this fun for you?”
“...What?”
“Putting on this shitty act like you’re so soldier, when you’re just a fucking bandit. Is it fun?”
What the hell’s with this guy? Why isn’t he scared?
Kakhdak, pushing down a growing unease, snapped back with a provocation.
“You’ve lost your damn mind, haven’t you? Wanna know what really makes laugh? That bitch next to you moaning in my bed tonight—”
He didn’t get to finish the sentence.
The mont the word “bed” left his mouth, a revolver barrel poked out from the carriage window—and spat fire.
Bang!
The shot landed clean in Kakhdak’s gut. He dropped to the ground, screaming in a mix of pain and disbelief.
When Yeomyeong looked back, the Saint was peeking out the window.
“I swear, I’ve got so disease where I have to shoot every bastard I see... Might be incurable.”
Yeomyeong gave a bitter chuckle, drawing up his mana as he turned to face the oncoming motorcycle raiders.
He didn’t even need to draw his sword.
None of them had any detectable mana.
“Don’t kill all of them,” Seti called out from behind him. “We still need to figure out why bandits are roaming so close to the Autonomous Zone.”
Ignoring the request, Yeomyeong launched himself straight toward the motorcycles.
“There’s a knight! The caravan has a knight!”, soone shouted, watching Yeomyeong blitz forward at a speed that rivaled the bikes themselves.
Raiders in the sidecars pulled out rifles.
Even with Yeomyeong’s limited knowledge of firearms, he could tell at a glance—
they were crudely copied knockoffs of Soviet assault rifles.
But even a knockoff was still a gun.
Especially a Soviet knockoff, famous for reliability and mass production.
“Shoot him! Turn him into a fucking pincushion!”
The mont they pulled their triggers, muzzle flashes erupted.
So of the guns misfired or exploded outright—but quantity has its own kind of quality.
Of the storm of bullets that flew, a few managed to pierce Yeomyeong’s skin. Blood sprayed.
“I hit him! Holy shit, did you see that?! I just killed—gghrk!”
The man who landed the shot never finished his cheer.
His neck twisted with a sickening snap, wrenched by an unseen force.
“Huh? That’s not a knight—he’s a mage—”
So of the bikers began to realize sothing was very wrong when they saw their comrade’s head turned the wrong way.
But it was already too late.
Yeomyeong’s wounds healed in the blink of an eye.
And as he clenched his fist—
Every front wheel of the bandits’ motorcycles twisted violently.
Even the seasoned bikers who treated these unpaved roads like their own backyard couldn’t have anticipated this—
A telekinetic maelstrom shattered the charge.
Motorcycles tumbled across the grasslands, chaos erupting as panic, fear, and roaring engines collided into a symphony of disaster.
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